I'm full of half done ideas. I look at words, shuffle them and get tired. None of that used to happen.

What I've spent too long doing...

----

Algheric


Rhapsody.

It twists, and it turns, and it walks
through every moment.
To mark each epoc, inscribe in it a sin
that destroys. Has destroyed a man.

G. is on the corner in suede
that rustles a little as he walks.
He works from the cracks, and I can barely see him,
barely stand to though I hear
wantwantkissneedle.
Constantly.

What're you doing? I ask while we watch
two boys: a shove, a knife.
An old man in a suit, flashing against the sun
and his smile says 'Like this. This!' and he flicks
a blade point down to the ground. Fast. Deep.
I name him
and know it true.
The boys imitate
too well.